


Personal Charms

by Watergaw



Category: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, For a Chrestomanci AU this has turned out to be remarkably Deep Secret, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10064777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergaw/pseuds/Watergaw
Summary: In which Victor is a nine-lifed enchanter stuck in a career rut and a terrible hotel.A Worlds of Chrestomanci AU because the idea wouldn't leave me alone.This should make sense to people who haven't read any Diana Wynne Jones, though it will work best for people who've read Charmed Life, the Lives of Christopher Chant, and the Pinhoe Egg.





	1. In which Victor is caught in a bad hotel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fireblazie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireblazie/gifts).



Victor threw himself onto the chaise longue and sighed.

"It's no use, Chris. Yakov says none of them’s got the kind of talent we need. What are we even doing here?"

"Patience, _cheri_. Phichit says these are our candidates. As in, no more unless you want to start bothering the Lords of Fate, and that's pushing it a bit, even for you."

"Ugh. Don't think I'm not grateful to Phichit, because I am, but we shouldn't need a Magid to find the next Chrestomanci. Their magic _should_ be like a beacon across the worlds. I shouldn't be in a terrible hotel in the back end of nowhere with no clue. I'm Chrestomanci, for goodness’ sake. It's _embarrassing_."

"I know. I _know_. Trust Phichit, okay? If he says his working ties the fatelines of whoever we need to find your successor, then it does. We just need to work out who it is."

It didn't look promising, though. Of the sparse number of guests who’d made the, at best, questionable decision to visit the Grand Spa Hotel in Bowbridge in the off-season, only four had shown signs that magic had any say in the matter. The small group of salespeople from Wolvercote on a team-building exercise had proven, under diligent examination, to be quite as ordinary as their counterparts at other hotels not currently at the centre of a major fateline working. Their primary concerns were surviving the week with minimal embarrassment and enjoying the sadly limited delights of the hotel bar. If the one objective was on a clear collision course with the other, at least they hadn't noticed anything unusual was happening.

Victor let his silver hair slide forward to cover his eyes and sighed again. Chris leant across to touch his arm.

"Iknow: you don't like having to do things the hard way, like us lesser mortals, but stop moping. At least until after breakfast. Speaking of which," he gestured at Victor, "I thought you'd be ready. Are you planning on getting dressed, or does Bowbridge get the full dressing gown experience?"

Victor struck a pose in the silk garment, a deep pink gradation with gold embroidery, and smiled. "I don't think they're ready, do you? Give me a minute."

 

~

 

Over breakfast, Victor doggedly ignored both the dining room’s mildly distressing flock wallpaper and the oily scrambled egg Chris was eating with apparent relish. Staring into the distance, he registered a flicker of movement over by the buffet table. There, weaving in between the other guests while balancing a surprisingly heavily-laden plate, was a remarkably pretty young man with a tangle of black hair and bright brown eyes.

Now that was more like it.

Noticing the shift in Victor’s attention, Chris raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing," he said, flicking his gaze back to Chris with a smile.

When he looked back, the young man was gone.

 

~

 

Most of the day was devoted to attempting to narrow down their slim list of candidates. Everyone agreed that it would be unwise to make public knowledge how little idea they currently had of where the next Chrestomanci might be. Which is how Victor came to find himself in the hotel’s lacklustre bar, conducting interviews for a job whose nature was decidedly non-specific.

But the absence of details was no barrier to the wave of confidence being directed at him from across the table. It was quite admirable, really. Mr Leroy was clearly charismatic, personable, and a gifted magic-worker. Victor was also fairly certain that he was going to be no help to them whatsoever. He was beginning to feel rather sad about the whole thing.

As Mr Leroy moved on from talking about his magical collaborations with musicians to expand on the virtues of his personal style, Victor felt the peculiar sensation of being watched. Sure enough, in the corner a tiny blond teenager was staring at them - no. At his companion, delicate features set in an expression of pure fury.

Interesting.

"Who’s your friend over there?," Victor asked.

"Uh…sorry?"

The boy was gone. Victor suppressed a sigh. The universe did not want him to have any fun around here.

 

~

 

Things didn't improve from there.

Mr Altin, who'd been flown over from Kazakhstan as part of what was ostensibly a holiday prize, had been deeply suspicious about the whole thing. Understandably so, perhaps. But despite Chris’s best efforts to bewitch him - in a strictly non-magical sense - all enquiries had all been brushed off with the same impassive look.

Mila had taken responsibility for their third candidate, Sara, as the best way to handle her overprotective twin, Michele, since the fateline had brought them along together as part of a matched set. Mila’s argument was sound, but Victor had caught the look in her eye. Their conversation seemed to have gone rather well, if the curve to her lips was anything to go by, but professionally, at least, they were no further forward.

And as for their last candidate, well he was something else.

"What do you mean, you haven't been able to get him out of his room, Georgi?" Victor squeezed his eyes shut, then fixed him with a look. "It's been days."

"I don't know. He's in there, but he's not leaving. Nothing's been through the wards, and I’ve been watching. There's no sign of anyone going in or out."

"But he has to eat, surely?

Georgi shrugged, and Victor bit back a curse.

"This whole thing is a shambles. I don't know how we're going to explain it to head office. Can't we at least get reception to call Yuri whateverhisnameis to the desk or something?"

"Plisetsky. Okay, let's try that then."

Victor frowned. "Are you sure that’s the name? I thought it was something else. Starting with a k, maybe?"

"Definitely says Plisetsky here. Come on then, let's get this over with."

 


	2. In which Victor starts to hope

It wasn't the staff’s fault. The clerk at reception had been practically falling over himself to oblige even before Victor turned on his brightest smile and set to work in earnest. But there was no answer when they put the call through to the elusive Mr Plisetsky’s room. Housekeeping proved to be equally susceptible to Mila, Georgi, and Chris’s formidable charm offensive. Yet, even though they were all so very eager to help, and all agreed that, yes, there was definitely a man in room 217, on further questioning their faces took on the same look of blank confusion.

  
The first time it happened, Victor started to hope.

  
By the third time, he could feel the heart-shaped grin pulling at the edges of his mouth, could see light breaking in his friends’ faces.

  
There was definitely something magical happening here. And it meant that, for the first time in months, they were on the right track.

  
The relief was almost painful.

~

Until the last year or so, if you had asked Victor about his work, he would have said that there was nothing he loved more. That being Chrestomanci was all he’d ever wanted. Every day he lived with the knowledge that he could find himself in any one of the Related Worlds on a moment’s notice, snatched away whenever someone called his name three times. Whenever someone needed him, which had put something of a dampener on his habit of sleeping naked, after one too many near diplomatic incidents. Victor loved the way the job gave him the means, motive, and opportunity to keep surprising people with enchantments of a kind they’d never seen before. He loved that he could take their breath away by making what they’d thought impossible look effortless and easy. And he loved the reputation he’d built, that made his magic synonymous with style.

  
He didn't know when it had stopped being true. Somehow, though, the colour and life had bled away, until everything flattened into the same dull ache in the place where feeling used to be. More than anything, he felt tired, with a bone-deep weariness that never really left him. Yet he kept going anyway, because there didn't seem to be anything else to do.

  
It had been different when he started. Training with Cat, who’d been Chrestomanci before him. Cat, who’d given him a home at Chrestomanci Castle. In Cat’s time, the Castle had felt more alive, always stirring with the presence of the hidden folk drawn to the kind of magic Cat and his wife Marianne had in such abundance, dwimmer. They were in touch with the life in things, and not just the green and growing, either. It was a power that coaxed out the natural essence of people and the things they made too, making them more like themselves. And the hidden folk flocked to it. You might be taking tea in the parlour, only to find a spidery purple-green hand stretching out to make off with a tea spoon or a sugar lump, or to offer a glass of mysterious liquid you would be best advised not to take because, if they meant no harm, the hidden folk were often mischievous.

  
Cat and Marianne had coaxed Victor to life too. He didn't like to think about how things had been before they found him, at twelve years old. With them, he’d grown into his magic and himself at the same time. They’d made it easy, their enormous strength the ground beneath his feet and its silent gravity. They were the earth to Victor’s lightning.

  
Victor and Cat fit together too, as he learned the job. From the start, Victor’s magic was spectacular. People couldn't look away, and Victor thrived on the attention. All the more so because he could see that, if anything, Cat was pleased to find fewer people gawking at him. Pleased too by every one of Victor's successes and how proud they made him. Yet, while Victor knew without a doubt just how rare and special his own talent was, he never understood why people seemed to let Cat’s magic slip under the radar. By rights, he felt, they should be swooning, because if you knew what you were really looking at, the things Cat did were almost beyond imagination. But where Victor's magic was impossible to ignore, Cat’s seemed as unremarkable as breathing.

  
So unremarkable, in fact, that sometimes people's obliviousness made Victor angry. Angry, and more than a little ashamed to have so comprehensively stolen Cat’s limelight. Once, after a call ending with an outrageous display of thanks for Victor, complete with a whispered invitation that left him scarlet, he’d even summoned up the courage to talk to Cat about it.

  
"Don't you hate it, how little they understand about what you just did for them?"

  
"So that terrible propositions could be mine instead of yours?" Cat laughed, and shook his head decisively. "I think I’ll pass on that one, thank you."

  
"I don't understand how it is that we work so well together when you manage to hide in plain sight and I’m, well, me."

  
It took Cat a few minutes to stop laughing.

  
"I’ve had some practice. You’ve more in common with my predecessor than an aversion to silver, you know."

So the job was wonderful in training. It was even wonderful afterwards, when Cat, down to his last remaining life, retired to a nice little cottage in Ulverscote with Marianne. There, they somehow faded into the background, as if they were nothing special. Two enchanters with power enough to shake the worlds melting into the lively hum of Marianne’s legion of Pinhoe relations, and friendly rivalries over jam and the growing of vegetables of unusual size. Victor missed working with them both, but they were close enough to visit for dinner, when time allowed.

  
By the time Cat had gone, Victor had been ready to do the job alone too, and for a few years, that had been more than enough. Zipping around the Related Worlds in the most beautiful suits known to humanity and romancing the most beautiful people, from time to time.

  
He’d been younger then. He hadn't minded, not really, no more than you’d expect, when the love affairs didn't stick. He hadn't had time, and if he’d known that Cat and Marianne had met each other stupidly young, well that wasn't what happened to most people. He hadn't worried. Not then. Not yet.

  
As time went on though, and Victor couldn't seem to catch hold of anything that might last, doubts started to whisper in the back of his mind. Because Cat and Marianne’s story wasn't the only one: before him, there’d been Christopher, now off living somewhere with Millie and Conrad. All comfortably knowing each other before they’d so much as hit fifteen, never mind twenty. And if part of Victor still thought that was a little weird by most people's standards, not that those were a thing to live by, part of him started to wonder if it might never happen for him.

  
It wasn't so much the love thing either, he thought. Since Cat and Marianne left, the Castle felt somehow less, and really was so too, less alive as the building drew into itself and the hidden folk followed the ebbing flow of dwimmer. Victor wanted a foil again. He wanted someone whose power was really a match for his own. The Chants had been lucky enough to find love and work keeping perfect time. Victor could be happy with work alone. He just needed to find another nine-lifed enchanter.

  
Which is why the beginning of hope felt like a precipice. Victor let out a long, slow breath. He had never been so close.


	3. In which there is dancing

Between the interviews and the ensuing tactical meeting, it had gotten late enough that Victor imperiously ruled in favour of leaving the occupant of room 217 as a matter for the following morning. No one had argued, but Victor still felt slightly ashamed of himself. He knew perfectly well that the only reason they hadn't winkled Mr Plisetsky out immediately was because he wanted the sensation of hope to stretch out a little longer. Just in case it didn't last.

He lay awake for a long time, looking up at the sad little patch where the paint was peeling on the ceiling of his quiet room, feeling almost fond of it. His mind kept whispering, over and over, _what if, what if, what if?_ Apprehension twisted in his belly. Soon, he would know.

 

~

 

Victor woke to a feeling that tugged at his gut with the kind of happiness that belongs to the first day of a holiday, or an unexpected kindness. He was smiling broadly, with no idea why. The room was still dark, and a glance at his watch told him it was still well before dawn.

 But something was definitely happening. The feeling pulled at Victor with urgency, a demand to _hurry, hurry, hurry_. Victor was up and moving before he had time to think, throwing on the dressing gown he’d left by the bed, in deepest indigo, with panels like the night sky.

Once outside his room, the sensation wrapped around him more strongly, all eager affection and excitement, like a dog on a leash. It tugged Victor towards the stairs, and down into the lobby. From there, it rushed through a long corridor to come out in front of a set of double doors, standing open to give a view of the room beyond.

It had been a ballroom, once, and now had the look of the kind of function room where you might hold a wedding reception, with stacks of tables and chairs along its sides. It should have been silent and empty, but instead was alive with motion. At its centre, two figures wove back and forth, in and out, whirling through the steps of a dance that sang with its own music. The dancers circled one another, always with a space between them, their movements now mirroring, now answering their partner’s, connected in their separation.

The smaller of the two was blond and slight. Victor recognised the teenager from the bar, his face all concentration instead of anger, his movements light and graceful. But Victor couldn't look at him for long: his attention was all for the blond’s fellow dancer, dragged towards him like a compass needle to the north.

 _He_ was the source of that strange, tugging feeling. Black hair slicked back from his forehead and brown eyes sparkling, the young man extended his arms with perfect poise. Spinning through a series of pirouettes, he transitioned into a rapid sequence of fouettés performed on the spot, the whipping motion of his leg a mesmerising blur.

Victor could not look away. He was so caught up in the beauty of it that it was some time before he registered that the room they were in was right at the heart of the fateline working that had drawn their candidates to the hotel. Then he noticed what the dance was doing to the working, and his sense of rapture evaporated with a bang.

This would not do.

That dazzling step sequence was teasing out two threads from the complex weave of magic. Isolating them. Hiding them away, out of sight.

Victor considered for a moment. This was strange magic, like light bent through a prism, and all worked with the movement of the body. It was like nothing he’d ever done before. He watched a little longer, willing himself into the motions to get the hang of it. Then, thanking his stars that the protocol training for the diplomatic end of the job had placed such an emphasis on dancing, Victor crossed the floor.

Bowing and extending a hand to the dark haired man, Victor led him into a new dance, taking control of the magic through sheer audacity. It wasn't the first time Victor had done something of the kind - it was a perk of the job, really - and he was braced for a struggle. But the young man was lost in the music, intent and impassioned, his face entranced. He only looked up at Victor in wonder, adapting his steps to answer an invitation phrased in his own language.

Distantly, Victor felt a burst of rage from the blond dancer, unable to hold his position in the face of the growing vortex of magic left in their wake. That aspect of the situation was going to need some careful handling, but right now Victor couldn't bring himself to care. This was the most fun he’d ever had in his life. They spun together in slow, delighted circles, their smiles star bright, and as Victor looked into his partner’s eyes, he could feel the balance of the worlds tilting, fatelines shifting.

The feeling intensified sharply as his partner took the measure of the dance and began to lead, his hand on Victor's waist. To Victor’s delighted surprise, he found himself tucked underneath his partner’s arm in a gentle spin, its momentum used to draw him into a graceful dip. Victor being Victor, he went with it gladly, arching his back and raising his leg high in the air.

But now Victor could feel more people gathering at the edge of the room, drawn by the noise of this new magic and the disturbance in the fateline working. Not only Victor's team of adepts, but all their candidates were there. Regretfully, he slowed the dance to a gradual halt, as the fatelines resolved themselves into a new and more open pattern.

Finally, he stood opposite his partner, fighting for breath, both of them still smiling. On impulse, Victor bent to capture the other man’s hand, pressing the knuckles to his lips, and looking up into his eyes.

"Tell me, please, with whom I’ve had the honour of dancing tonight?"

Victor was over egging it a little, he knew, but was unrepentant. He was rewarded too with the most spectacular blush, sweeping over the young man’s features until it disappeared under the neck of his tight black sweater. It was delicious.

"Y-Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri."

"Ah, interesting!" said Victor, his mind on yesterday's confusion over the occupant of room 217. "And aren't you talented? I’m looking forward to learning all about your magic when you come to join us at Chrestomanci Castle. It's amazing!" he gushed.

At this point, an expression of utter confusion settled across that beautiful face.

"I'm sorry, but what do you mean, magic? I can't do magic."

Victor blinked, slowly, and took a moment to turn the answer over in his mind, probing it carefully in case he was missing something. Finally, he closed his eyes, before shaking his head firmly.

"For this," Victor said with feeling, "I am going to need tea." He drew in a breath, and spoke again, with particular emphasis. "I need all the principals in this matter to gather in the…bar with me now."

Behind him, Mila let out a good-humoured groan. "Ugh, Victor, you are the _worst_. Using Performative Speech to rope us all into your detective role-play fantasies now, is it? I don't know whether I should clap or file a grievance."

Victor winked at her and led the way, still holding Yuuri's hand.


	4. In which there is an ending, of sorts.

Once everyone was sitting comfortably in the hotel bar at a long table, Victor cast a spell to ensure that they wouldn't be interrupted, then conjured up some necessary supplies. First came a large antique brass samovar, a jar of the finest strawberry jam, a pot of coffee, milk, sugar, and an assortment of cups, saucers, and spoons. With a considering look at the scowling blond teenager, Victor added a pot of hot chocolate for good measure.

For a while, the room was given over to the muted bustle of people tipped out of bed at an unreasonable hour, and their pressing need for a hot drink to establish something like normal function. Victor took advantage of this to give Yuuri his full attention again. During their walk to the bar and the beverage-summoning, Yuuri had been stealing quick, shy glances at Victor from under long eyelashes. It was delightful, and Victor was studiously pretending not to notice, while showing his profile to best advantage.

At the same time, he felt the uptick of Yuuri’s anxiety spilling out into his magic and travelling in waves across the room. Gradually, almost every face in the room began to wear a similar look of confusion.

"Victor," said Georgi, slowly, "what are we doing here?"

Victor reached out and teased the threads of the thick layer of magic apart, making a space wide enough to allow everyone in the room to see. Chris was the first to catch on, springing to his feet and scrambling to put on his glasses to get a closer look.

"Oh. Oh, I see, Victor! It's like a stronger kind of 'Don't Notice,' isn't it?"

Victor nodded. "Yes. Much stronger. There's our explanation for how stumped we’ve been, I think. The question is, why?"

He turned back to Yuuri, and spoke very gently. "Yuuri, my dear, did you say you can't do magic?"

"No, I can't. Spells don't work for me." He furrowed his brow, and Victor suppressed the urge to rub the crease away.

"I hate to break it to you," he said, instead, "but you can. You’re doing magic right now. In fact," he paused, and swallowed, before going on more carefully still, "In fact, you’re an enchanter in your own right."

Yuuri became a blur of denial, all waving hands and shaken head. "No, no, no. I can't be!"

"Perhaps we should ask your companion if he can shed any light on this?" Victor turned to the blond teenager, whose face was a study in rage. "Now, who might you be, please?"

The blond pressed his lips into a fierce white line. After a moment, Yuuri, looking from him to Victor in worry, blurted out, "He’s Yuri too. Yuri Plisetsky."

"Shut up, katsudon! You can't trust these people."

"Oh," Victor enquired, pleasantly, his expression becoming vague, "but he can trust you? You knew about his magic, didn't you?"

And then, more softly, "Did you do this to him?"

Georgi, attempting to catch the blond’s eye, gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

Yuri exploded with fury. "Of course not! No one _did_ this to him." Yuuri looked a little happier at this, but his face fell again when Yuri continued, "He does it all himself."

"Wait, what?" said Yuuri, plaintively. Closing his eyes, he set his jaw and ground out "would someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?"

"You," said Victor. "You are a nine-lifed enchanter, like me."

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

"Whenever something important happens, a new world forms for all the different possible outcomes." Victor paused for a moment to see how Yuuri was taking this.

Yuuri inclined his head, listening with a slight frown.

"Normally, people have doubles scattered across the Related Worlds. But, sometimes, very rarely, a person is born without any doubles. They have all the magic that would usually be spread between the doubles, and they have nine lives. That's us, Yuuri." 

"But," said Yuuri, looking distinctly sceptical, "if that's true, then why don't spells work for me?"

Victor put one finger to his lips, considering. "Hang on, Yuuri. If you can't do magic, what were you doing back there in the ballroom?"

"That? That was just dancing. I like to dance sometimes when I get anxious." He fixed his gaze on the floor, eyes guarded. "I know it's silly, but I’ve always felt like it brings me luck. And I was worried tonight, because Yuri said there was something weird going on here. So I thought it might help."

"So," said Victor, with a tight smile at Yuri. "We’re back with you then. You know it isn't just dancing, don't you, because you were doing it too. So why doesn't Yuuri know? _How_ can he not know?"

"You may as well tell us, you know," Mila put in, kindly. "You’ve nothing to fear from us, I promise."

"Oh, you say that," Yuri snarled, "but I know what you people do to people like us." He turned to Yuuri, almost frantic. "I’m sorry. I couldn't tell you. It was the only thing keeping you safe."

"Yuri?" Yuuri replied, sounding more and more upset. "What do you mean?"

"When I found you. It was because of your magic. You were dancing, and I felt your magic. It was calling to me. And when you stopped, you cast this spell around you. So that no one could see you. You do it all the time."

Yuuri took a moment to process this. "Oh," he said, faintly.

"I thought, if I told you, you might start using your power, and then they'd come for you. But they came anyway." He turned on Victor, and hissed, "you can’t have him. I won't let you!"

"Victor," said Mila, quietly, "what does he mean, 'people like us'?" Victor turned his head to find his team all watching, eyes intent. He smiled, pleased. You couldn't say they weren't quick on the uptake.

"Yes. You see, Yuri is a nine-lifed enchanter too."

"I didn't know that was possible," said Georgi.

"Possible, yes. Just tremendously unlikely. As far as I know, it's never happened before. It could be very interesting indeed." Victor was beaming now.

"Oh, but head office are going to love us," Mila breathed.

Victor winked. "They always did, you know. Apart from Expenses. There’s no pleasing them."

That was quite enough for Yuri, who lunged across the table to loom in Victor’s face.

"Hey, you arrogant asshole. Did you miss the part where we're not going anywhere with you!"

Yuuri touched his arm, and spoke softly. "Yuri, you’re fifteen. I don't need protection. I can look after myself."

"You don't know what they're like." He shook his head emphatically.

Chris, with a measuring look at Yuri, asked, "Is it the job? I know it's a scary prospect, but with two of you there's a bit of room for manoeuvre."

"What are you talking about? What job? I won't let you take our lives and our magic!"

Now everyone looked confused. Victor, of course, made the first move.

"I think we’ve got our wires crossed somewhere. We’ve no intention of taking your lives or your magic."

"How can you say that after what you did to my mother? She told me! You took her magic and her brother and left her stranded in a poky little world. She said I was too like him, and if you ever found out, you’d take me too!"

He took a deep breath. "Yuuri, magic is dangerous. It's raw power, and people like this will stop at nothing to get it. That's why it has to stay hidden. Unlike some people, I know better than to show off for no reason!" This last was punctuated with a rather pointed look at Mr Leroy, perched at one end of the table alongside the other candidates, all torn between lively interest and  a strong desire to be somewhere else in the event of disaster. Though Mr Altin looked almost approving.

Victor frowned. Parts of this story were beginning to sound awfully familiar. He looked at Yuri, with his blond hair and blue-green eyes, and thought how best to approach this.

"Your mother’s name wouldn't happen to be Gwendolen, would it?"

This was possibly not the best opening.

"You admit it then!," Yuri spat. "You see, katsudon?" 

"Wait, wait, wait," said Victor, soothingly. "What is it that you think we did to your uncle, exactly?"

"You took his lives and used them to extend your own, didn't you? Don't try to deny it. You look young, but you’re exactly how she described you. All fancy dressing gowns and insufferable smugness!"

Victor was still trying to deal with the beginning of this sentence and all it implied, when Yuri reached the end, and Mila, Chris, and Georgi’s lips began to quirk at the effort not to laugh at this rather concise summary of Victor’s character. Tough, he thought, but not entirely unfair.

"Well, I’ll concede the dressing gowns. And the smugness, at that. But Cat - your uncle’s - alive and well." He held up a hand, anticipating another outburst. "I’m not asking you to take my word for it. You should talk to him though. He’d love to meet you, and you might find that the story looks rather different from his end of things."

"So what is this really about then?," asked Yuuri.

"Well, it's a government job, really. You’d be working with me." Victor gave Yuuri the full force of his most flirtatious smile. In the background, Yuri’s face shifted from consideration to outright disgust.

"Ah." Yuuri smiled. "Well, if this isn't a magical kidnapping situation then, do you think we could call in to let my family know where we’ve gone?  Because this was supposed to be a holiday, and it's not fair to just disappear."

Victor hummed assent, and Yuuri pressed his advantage, catching Victor’s eye with a heated look of his own. "You could make it a proper visit. My parents run an onsen in Hasetsu. And they're very welcoming. Yuri's been with us for months now."

A worried look crossed his face. "Yuri, does your mother know where you are?"

Yuri’s guilty look said it all. He grumbled, "you don't know what it's like! She was going to marry me off. For dynastic reasons. I won't go back, and you can't make me!"

Victor and Chris exchanged significant looks, before Chris supplied, "I think we can let her know you're safe, anyway. Even Gwendolyn deserves that much." He turned back to Victor. "Now, do you think you could get us back to the Castle for breakfast? I really don't think I can face what passes for toast here again." A sly look crept onto his face. "Besides, you could ask Sam to make us syrniki."

Victor brightened. "Oh, yes. Yuuri, have you ever had them? No? Ah, we'll definitely have to go then!"

"So will you do the honours then?," asked Yuuri. "I’d love to see you at work."

"No," said Victor, his grin now positively wicked. Now he’d seen how Yuuri’s magic worked, he had the most brilliant idea. "No. I think we should do this your way."

He extended a hand with an elaborate flourish. "Yuuri! Dance with me?"

And Yuuri smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly this should make sense for people who haven't read Charmed Life, but the only thing you might need to know is that Gwendolen Chant is positively Machiavellian. I have this terrifying vision of what a world ruled by adult Gwendolen might look like. The power politics and masterminding would be off the charts.

**Author's Note:**

> This is partly because I loved fireblazie's In which there is a moving castle https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623369, which set me thinking about what another Diana Wynne Jones AU might look like. I feel there's a fair degree of similarity between Victor and Christopher Chant, but the time line of this is later than the Chrestomanci books, as will become clear in the next chapter. Phichit is a Magid because he reminds me of Zinka in Deep Secret, and because I continue to possess no chill when it comes to Diana Wynne Jones. I know this is niche.


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